One of Our Own
by TheAngelToMyHunter
Summary: During a hunt, the reader becomes badly injured and decides to hide their wounds from Sam and Dean using magic.


You knew from the beginning that going into that warehouse half-cocked was a bad idea. Whenever you rushed into a hunt like this with a head full of anger, bad things always happened. And, of course, you did it more often than you liked to because you'd let your need to hunt, your need to purge the world of monsters and general evil things, get the better of you. Sam and Dean had told you not to get too far from them as you entered the abandoned building, machetes at the ready as well as syringes of dead man's blood. You could already feel your heart racing in your chest as your footsteps crunched softly on loose bits of rubbish on the ground. The place reeked of mold and grime; it was vile. A sudden flash of movement on your left startled you and you snapped your head sharply to the side, peering into the darkness. Why you and the boys had chosen to come here at night was beyond you but it didn't matter anyway. You had already killed most of the nest and there were only a few left. It was nothing the three of you couldn't handle. You gave them a look and signaled to the left and off you went before they could protest. You crept along the wall, trying to keep as quiet at possible as your heart raced ever faster and your blade grew sweaty in your hand as you firmly grasped it. Another flash of movement and you were on the move, faster than before, determination fueling you and urging you onward. As you rounded the corner of a few old, dusty crates, you heard the sound of soft crying not far from you. It sounded like a young girl. You edged closer to the source, keeping on your toes as you went. The cries seemed to be coming from one of the crates on the far side of the warehouse and you came closer and closer. In front of the crate which you were sure was the one containing the crying, you pressed yourself against it and tried to peer in through the slits in the wood planks. "Hello?" you whispered, keeping your voice hushed. The crying stopped suddenly and a pair of blue eyes stared back at you through the wood. They were red-rimmed, probably from crying. The person within, a young woman from what you could tell, crawled closer to you.

"Get me out of here. Please, I'm begging you," she said, her voice hoarse and barely audible, coming out in barely a whisper. You nodded, though you were sure she couldn't see.

"Back up," was all you said before taking the blade of your machete and prying the boards from their frame. It was surprisingly easier and more quiet than you had expected, the planks practically peeling off of the crate. Soon, the girl was free and in your arms. She was shaking slightly and held onto your arm very weakly, as if she had been in there for days. "Are you alright?" you asked, looking at her with concern. You felt her chuckle a little.

"I am now," she said before looking up at you, her fangs bared and ready to devour you. You choked back a scream as she lunged for your neck, her talon-like fingernails digging into your skin. You reached for the syringe of dead man's blood in your jacket pocket and quickly plunged the needle into her skin. She tried to pull back, burying her nails in your soft flesh, but the damage had been done. She fell to the floor, weak and powerless. You took your blade and sliced her head clean off of her shoulders and watched it roll from you, her body falling to the ground completely, the stump of her neck slowly oozing blood. You looked down at your left forearm, five deep gashes trailing down from your elbow to your wrist. You winced at the pain as your adrenaline slowed and you pulled the sleeve of your jacket down to cover the cuts. You'd be damned if the boys saw your wounds, especially after they had told you to stay with them. You quickly made your way back to the entrance and waited. Soon they emerged from the surrounding darkness, no worse for wear it seemed.

"Done?" you asked. Sam nodded.

"Yup. Killed the rest of those sons of bitches," Dean said, a small smile on his face.

"Hey, don't run off like that again, okay? You could have gotten hurt or worse," Sam said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You nodded, trying your hardest not to wince at the throbbing pain in your arm. You'd have to stitch it up when you three got back to the bunker.

"Yeah, okay," you responded as you got into the car and Dean started up the engine, peeling out of that place and heading back to the bunker. You leaned back against the backseat, your hand firming pressed against the cuts as you desperately tried nonchalantly to stop the bleeding. The blood already seemed to be seeping through the several layers of your jacket and you pressed harder into the cuts, hissing slightly. The sooner you three got home, the better. "Hey, Dean, can you drive a little faster. I really gotta use the bathroom," you said. He looked at you in the rear view mirror with a smirk.

"Yeah, sure thing," he replied, pressing his foot to the gas pedal, the car leaping forward on the road. You let your head lull back against the seat, hoping and praying that you'd get back to the bunker soon.

Safely in the confines of your room, you pulled out your emergency first aid kit you kept in your hunting duffel and out came needle, thread, hydrogen peroxide, and gauze. You took everything in your arms and rushed to the bathroom just down the hall from your room, hoping the boys wouldn't see. Once inside, you tore off your jacket and looked at the damage. The five cuts were ragged and still slowly bleeding, but the majority of the blood seemed to be clotting, so you hadn't severed anything important. You turned the sink on and ran warm water over the wounds, winced and biting your lip to keep quiet for the pain was excruciating. The warm water slowly washed away the blood, leaving the cuts raw and pink. As soon as you turned the water off, blood started to come back up to the surface. You unscrewed the cap on the hydrogen peroxide and splashed your cuts with it, hissing and crying out softly at the burn. Then, taking your sterile needle and the surgical thread, you carefully stitched yourself up, the whole time wincing and breathing heavily through your mouth. Tears appeared at the corners of your eyes and you blinked them away, determined to fix yourself up. After nearly half an hour, it was done. You wiped the peroxide over the wounds with the gauze before wrapping a fresh piece around your arm. It felt like it was on fire and you knew that if the boys saw this, you'd be forever embarrassed and scolded, probably put on research duty for your behavior and the extensiveness of the wound. Sighing as your gathered up your materials, you hurried back to your room to grab a change of clothes and a plastic bag in the hopes of showering and finding a way to hide your cuts from Sam and Dean.

Your shower had been rushed to say the least since the bag had ripped half way through but you were pretty sure you had come up with a way to hide your cuts. Once, when you and the boys had hunted a witch, you'd taken her spell book for the library's shelves, figuring you three could learn something from it. Surely there must be some sort of concealment spell, something that could hide the devastation that vampire had done to your arm. When all was quiet in the bunker, you left your room in search of the book. You searched the shelves and eventually found it. Pulling it from the shelf, a light flicked on in the next room over and Sam walked out, his hair disheveled and his clothes rumpled from sleep but he seemed alert. "Oh, hey Y/N. What are you up to?" he asked, his voice a little gruff from sleep. You stared at him in terror, your heart and mind racing.

"I, um, I was just getting a book for some, uh, late night reading," you stammered out, sounding too matter-of-factually. Sam looked at you quizzically and you immediately pulled out a book of demon lore, hoping that wouldn't look suspicious. "See, demon lore," you said, waggling the book around in your hand. He squinted and shrugged his shoulders.

"Okay. Have fun," he said, continuing past you and into the kitchen. He patted your shoulder lightly. "Good night." You watched him saunter away from you before grabbing the book of spells as well as the one on demon lore and retreating to your bedroom. You flipped through the pages on your bed and eventually found a spell that you thought would work. It was a basic concealment spell, one that was used mostly to hide disfigurement in the more powerful witches whose power had deformed them and made them unpleasant to look at.

"Wow. Cosmetology for witches," you said to yourself as you read off the ingredients for the spell. Some of them were obscure and some not so much, but all of it you knew could be found within the bunker. The Men of Letters kept a lot of odds and ends, especially for simple spells like the one you'd found. You knew of one of the rooms that held a lot of odd herbs and other dry items like that. It unfortunately was near Dean's room and that could be a problem if he was out wandering around. Working up your courage, you made a list of everything and headed out again, keeping quiet as best as you could. Upon reaching the room, you put an ear to Dean's door to listen. You heard the soft sound of music blaring through headphones but no indicator that he was asleep. You shrugged a bit. At least his hearing would be impaired should anything happen. You tip-toed away from his door and down the hall to the room. You turned the cool knob in your hand and the door clicked open. Reaching to your right, you felt around for a light switch and upon finding it, you flipped it up. The lights snapped on and you stepped inside before shutting the door quickly behind you. The room had rows upon rows of shelves with jars and other glass instruments full of all sorts of things in varying colors and consistencies. You looked down at your short list and hoped that they would be in alphabetical order. The first item on the list was amaranthus. You searched the row farthest to the left and found a purplish-red blossom that was labeled as such. Taking a small bronze bowl from a nearby table, you plucked two from the container and placed them safely within your bowl. Next, onto some herb you couldn't pronounce, this one a vibrant yellow when you found it. And so you went, collecting the ingredients in the bowl. Finally, you had everything you needed and you headed back to your room as silently as possible. After grinding the herbs and such into fine powder, you peered into the book to see what to do next. A small incantation followed and you slowly sprinkled the mixture over your wounded arm. After a few moments, the area covered in the stuff started to shimmer and you stared in wonder as the gauze on your arm disappeared and your arm before the vampire was all you saw. You went to touch the flesh and winced as your fingers pressed into the skin, which felt an awful lot like gauze. You wished the spell had actually healed the wound, but you knew that so many things could go wrong with a healing spell and that just wasn't worth the aggravation. Not when this was much easier. You cleaned up your mess and stored the rest of the powder in a small Ziploc bag that you stashed in the top of your dresser before drifting off into sleep.

You woke up in severe pain, your arm throbbing. You had tried your best to not sleep on it, but you were fairly sure you'd rolled onto the thing during the night and now you were paying for it. Looking over at it, you saw the gauze, not the flesh of your forearm. Startled, you blinked a couple times and looked again but lo and behold, your arm was back to it's bloody, gauzy self. You got up quickly, rummaging through your clothing looking for the book. You were sure you had done the spell right and as you found the page, you came to find that the spell would only hold for a few short hours. You felt like crying. Before casting the spell again, you unwrapped your arm, the stitches somewhat bloody but already healing. You winced as you again wrapped your mangled limb and recited the spell while sprinkling the powder over the effected area. Again, like the night before, your arm shimmered and appeared undamaged. You sighed with relief and went to get dressed, determined not to let your bum arm stop you from your daily tasks. You pulled on your favorite sweatshirt, looking in the mirror at yourself before leaving. You took a deep breath and braced yourself for the boys.

The air smelled of bacon and fried eggs as you walked out of your room, demon lore book in hand. Into the library you went and the smell was every stronger. You inhaled, a smile spreading on your lips. Maybe today wasn't going to be so bad. Sam was seated at one of the tables, a book open before him. He looked to be intently studying it, not even noticing you. You walked over to the shelf where you'd gotten the book last night. "Good morning, Sam," you said, placing the book back in its designated spot.

"Morning, Y/N," he replied, turning around to face you. "How was the book? Learn anything new about demons?" he asked. You froze a moment before giving a nervous laugh.

"Ah, uh, no, nothing I didn't already know," you said rigidly, hoping he wouldn't catch you in your lie or pick up on what was going on. He stood from his seat and you knew that today was just not your day. As you turned to leave to get some food from the kitchen and avoid this conversation, he grabbed your wounded arm and you practically screamed, the pain tremendous. "Ah ah aaaaah ahaha hahaha hahahaha HAHAHAH HAHAHAHAAAAA SAMMY STOP THAT TICKLES AHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!" you exclaimed, your voice shrill as you jerked your arm away and forced yourself to cover up your pain with your horrendous fake laughter. He pulled away from you quickly, his face really, _really_ concerned.

"Uh, Y/N, are you okay?" he asked. You forced the biggest smile you could.

"Yeah, never better," was all you said as you dashed off to the kitchen to find some pain killers. Dean was at the stove, cooking and whistling to himself. He turned when he heard you enter and he immediately stopped what he was doing when he saw your face.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, genuine concern in his voice. You smiled again, realizing your face was not very pleasant.

"Nothing, just a headache. Do we have any Advil? Ibuprofen? Tylenol? I need something for this," you said, your good arm gripping the counter firmly. Dean nodded, opening a cabinet not far from the stove and pulled out a huge bag full of pain killers.

"Take your pick," he replied, going back to his cooking. You rummaged through the bag looking for the highest dosage you could find and taking three of them. You gulped them down and sat at the counter, head against the cool counter top. A plate was suddenly placed before you and you raised your head only to be greeted by a smiling Dean leaning on the counter, chewing on a piece of crispy bacon. "Hungry?" he asked. You couldn't help but smile.

"Actually, yeah. Starving, in fact," you said, picking up your fork and digging in. You smiled at Dean again as he pushed himself from the counter and called in Sam, who came in with a worried look that soon vanished when he saw you eating and smiling. He looked relieved after that and took up a seat next to you as Dean gave him a plate and pulled out some orange juice from the fridge. The three of you ate together and you began to forget about your arm completely. Once the dishes were cleaned and put away, Sam announced that he might have found another hunt. You all filed into the library and bent over the table as Sam passed out a few papers. There was apparently some ghostly business going on in a town not too far from the bunker.

"Of course, we wouldn't be leaving until tomorrow since last night was pretty late. Does that sound okay?" he said, looking at you and Dean.

"Yeah, that's fine," you said.

"I'm cool with that," Dean replied, eyeing the house where the haunting was said to take place. You read over the newspaper article about it when Dean looked up at you, his face suddenly very alarmed. "Y/N, what's wrong with your arm?" he asked. Your heart froze and your eyes immediately darted to the sleeve of your sweatshirt that was now turning from a gray to a crimson. You couldn't form words as Sam looked up as well, taking in the sight of your bleeding arm. He immediately reached for you and before you could pull away, he pulled up your sleeve to reveal the bloodied gauze.

"What the..." he trailed off as Dean began to unwrap your arm. Your cheeks flamed from embarrassment and pain as the gauze was gingerly taken from the wounds, which still looked terrible. The skin was pink and puffy and some of the stitches had popped open, probably from when Sam had grabbed you.

"Don't touch it!" you exclaimed, finding your voice. You tried to jerk your arm away from them, but Sam kept a firm grip on your wrist and Dean had your elbow.

"When did this happen?" the older brother asked, looking over at you with a stern gaze, his eyes piercing. You shied away from it, not wanting to answer. "Y/N," he said in a rigid voice.

"Y/N, please tell us. We want to help," Sam added, his thumb stroking your wrist lightly in an attempt to soothe you. Taking a deep breath, you looked Dean dead in the face.

"Last night. Vamp got me," you said in a soft voice, the courage you had had momentarily leaving you and your gaze falling to the table again.

"Why didn't you tell us?" he asked, his voice losing it's edge. You felt like you were going to cry, mostly from embarrassment, but also because you had disappointed both of the boys, the only two people you cared about in this world.

"I didn't want you to worry," you mumbled out, your free hand coming up and rubbing your nose. Your eyes stayed on the table, focusing on the little nicks and chinks in it. Dean scoffed and let go of your elbow.

"You didn't want us to worry? Y/N, this isn't a matter of us worrying. This is about your safety! When you got hurt, you should've said something, dammit! Cried out, whatever! Who cares about your damn pride when you could have gotten killed?!" Dean shouted, his back turned to you now. Sam looked at you, his eyes sympathetic.

"Dean's right, Y/N. You should have told us. Do you know how many times I've gotten hurt on a hunt? How many times Dean has? We've both been in pretty bad shape. It happens to the best of us hunters but you gotta speak up about it because what if it was more serious than this? We care a lot about you, okay? We don't want anything to happen to one of our own," Sam said, smiling a little and giving your hand a squeeze. Dean turned around, his hand scratching his head slightly, his fit of anger over.

"Yeah. We just don't want to see anything bad happen to you," he said, walking back over to you and putting his arms around your shoulders from behind. You felt your face heat again and tears spring to your eyes but you smiled anyway. It was crazy how you'd managed to find family in the life, of all the unlikely places.

"Thanks guys," you said, sniffling a bit. Dean let you go and patted you on your head as Sam continued to hold your hand.

"Now, let's get these cuts fixed up right. Your stitches look like Sam's," Dean said, his usual playful smirk back.

"Hey!" you and Sam said at the same time. The three of you laughed and before you knew it, you were good as new. In fact, you had never felt better.


End file.
